$3 burgers and David Sedaris

Imagine this: 2400 people, sitting in the dark, watching a guy read from his books for 2 hours. Most performers would have to throw in some kind of body moves or move around the stage in interesting way to keep the show going. Not Sedaris. He can hold an audience spell bound with stories of Japan, Christmas in other countries and shopping with his sister.

I went with a friend of mine who is much more well traveled than I. She and her husband lived in Japan for a few months and she even speaks a little Japanese. She told me this over $3 burgers at a local pub where I had my very first beer. (I don't drink but I totally caved into peer pressure when the bartender said, "why'd you come into an Irish pub if you don't drink?" So I asked for a suggestion and he gave me "Fromboise beer" which has a raspberry blend to it. It was really good -- for beer -- and the best part is that I was able to stay sitting in an upright position on my bar stool, a feat that requires a lot of skill I discovered.

It says a lot about my strict religious upbringing to understand that I arrived at the age of 43, have conceived two children (now teenagers) and just now have had one whole beer. It will no doubt be my very last.


"Wow," I said to my friend as we finished our meal . "There must be a lot of people here going to the show."

"No, " the bartender interjected. "It's $3 burger night."

At the show, Sedaris was signing books to a crowd of people so I walked (ran, actually, trying not to attract too much attention) to get in line where I assumed the posture of an educated, literary observer along with the rest of the Tulsans who were in the same line. Having never really been around literary types too much, I'm always intimidated by them. I read 4 books a week and probably can hold my own when discussing the classics but something about that crowd just kind of freaks me out.

I had brought one of my books of Sedaris ( I have given away probably 100 of his books to friends, etc.) and I carefully took it out of my handbag so that I could have him sign it. The closer I got to him the more I began hero-worshipping so that by the time I was actually in front of him, I said something ridiculous like, "ohmygodmrsedaris, I love you sooooomuch, ihaveallyourbooks and.." I went on for a bit while he looked at me, somewhat fearfully, and said, "what's your name?" Since I couldn't speak, I held out the card the usher gave to me with my name on it. He smiled, stated my name and then said, "that's a good name for a writer", then signed my book and looked at my friend for her book to sign.

My friend was much more composed than I. Perhaps her time spent in Japan gave her a certain reserve that I was clearly lacking. She smiled, gave him her book and they struck up an instant rapport while I stood aimlessly by watching her Sedaris talk for a bit in Japanese, no doubt about me, while I stood limply at the side of the table.

Baby Boy and College

The call came, as I knew it would, almost to the minute in which I expected it. My son, a new freshman, called late Sunday just to say "hi". Uh huh.

As any parent will tell you, whenever a teenager that is living on your dime calls to "chat" about "nothing in particular" this is indeed cause for alarm. You see, kids don't call you when they bang up the car and are standing at the police station. They have friends for such emergency. Friends that help them get their game plan together before they call their parents.

Kids call parents to "chat" only when there is some major life change happening.

So I, of course, begin with the litany of questions. That is what mom's do. They nag, they ask innane questions and they, most of all, repeat themselves as they try to think what to say during the conversation.

ME: "Are you OK?"

SON: "I don' t know."

ME: "Are you bleeding?"

SON: "Not really."

ME: "What's her name?"

SON: Silence. Sigh. "I can't talk about it." Sigh. Sniff.

ME: "Where are you?"

SON: "Alone."

To my credit, I kept my eye on the road, my cell phone plastered to my head and though I considered pulling the car off Hwy 169 and making a deadbolt to Stillwater and right into rescue mode, I held firm. Sure, I had trouble seeing the road what with all the rain and my tears, but I kept going.

ME: "What are you going to do?"

SON: "I don't know. Maybe go work out. Do some homework." Now THIS was cause for alarm. A depressed, love sick teeanger doing homework? Where did this kid come from? I certainly hadn't taught him such stability. I generally cannot make it through a week without some kind of mental breakdown that commands a steady diet of coffee, chocolate, bad movies or reading Faust.

SON: "I'm not sure college is for me."

Now this is where many parents lose it. On one hand, we know what to say. We know to say something like, "Oh, you'll get through it. It's not so bad..." and do some sort of motivational speech where your kids see the value in sustaining the belief that a college education will somehow keep them off welfare and out of trouble. But, the parent in all of us -- especially if you're a mom -- cries out, "YES! I know! You must come home! Your room is all ready, clean and I'm making a great pot roast!"

I was silent as I pondered my options.

ME: "What do you think you should do?"

SON: "I don't know."

ME: "If you did know what to do, what would it be?"

SON: Silence. More sighs. "Just keep going?" This was said with such dread, with such sadness that I again, fought the wheel.

My urge to pontificate was so great at this point, I could see the climax of my arguments, I could see me bucking up his sagging spirit and us having a regular 7th Heaven moment. And I admit, I was tempted.

Stupid things went through my head. Things like "this hurts me more than you" made a pass through, as did "wish I knew what to do". Where do this colorless phrases come from and why do they make their way to the front of our lobes when we have nothing to comfort those we love?

Instead, I just sat there, listening to his sobs as I drove through the rain.